


Two Different Kinds

by theshizniiit



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshizniiit/pseuds/theshizniiit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Little did they know that they had two different purposes and organizations branded on their souls. They belonged to two different worlds.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Two different agencies and thus two different lives.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>The rest is history.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> A Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When John had kissed him goodbye that morning, Dorian never could have imagined that his husband was hiding something from him. With a coffee tinged kiss and a promise to be home before dinner, John had gotten into his car, and driven off to work. Dorian had fed the dog and departed soon after.

It was just an ordinary day. The fucked up thing was, he couldn’t even be angry. Not really. Because he had a secret too. A dirty one. A dangerous one.

And that’s why his husband is holding a gun to his head.

Being a spy was tricky, you couldn’t tell your family what you REALLY did for a living, thus you were given a cover job and identity. Having a family, even with a stable cover, was ill advised, but he still did it, married John and bought a house and a dog to live in pseudo domestic bliss. He was happy. Now- in that split second- he thinks he truly understands  _why_  it’s ill advised.

And that’s why he is currently holding a gun to his husband’s head. 

They’re standing there, stock still with the air pulsing with shock and betrayal, rival logos pinned to their suits, on their souls and etched into their guns. Two different agencies, two different agents. Dorian comes to the dull realization that they’ve been living two different lives. The both of them.

Dorian only faintly feels his heart shatter in his chest. His entire life, his home, his  _John_ , is just as corrupted by the same thing that keeps  _him_  awake at night. 

So much for being a happy newlywed.

"I guess you’re not really an art curator huh,  _Dorian.”_ John spits, face enraged but eyes hurt, “Or should I say” His brow furrows,” _Agent 16_.”

"And you’re not really an CEO huh,  _Agent 41_?” He sneers, feeling his face twist into a frown.

"All this time…" John says, "All this time you were.."

Dorian grips his gun tighter, “So were you.”, He looks into John’s face, the same face that he wakes up to and kisses on lazy Saturday mornings. The same face that occupies his every thought, just as strong as the day they met. Just as strong as the day John got on one knee and presented him with a ring, shining in the sunlight, the day Dorian tearfully replied  _'Yes'_. The day he said  _'I do.'_

"You gonna shoot me, John?" Dorian says, making sure to keep his voice level and impassive, "Complete your mission?"

He feels his hands shake. His hands haven’t shaken since his first mission. His hands never shake. Not when he tortures a man for information, not when he takes a life and slips out of the party, not when he poisons a punch bowl and retrieves the stolen file. He’s the best. The top ranking agent in the shadowy organization to which he’s dedicated his life.

His hands never shake. Never. No matter how much blood or stress or suspense. Never.

But his hands are shaking. 

"Are you going to shoot me, John?" He feels his voice crack and wither by the end of the sentence, gun clutched tight, staring into his husband’s eyes, John’s gun pointing at his temple.

Then he realizes.

John’s hand is shaking too.

**_~_ **

**_5 years ago_ **

_They’d met in Brazil._

_John sits at the bar, nursing a drink, and idly chatting with the bartender, fiddling with his glass, eyes wandering outside the big window that gives him a clear view of the street._

_No one sees the gun tucked in his waistband._

_The only reason he’s not completing his mission is because someone else already did. What he was going to do with a gun someone did with a knife._

_A knife._

_John sighs and leans back in his chair. Mind wandering before a whirlwind of police officers  erupt into the bar,their cold blue uniforms a stark contrast to the warm oranges and browns that paint the room, shouting and gesturing to the customers. He hears an officer give an order to question every tourist traveling alone. Which would not be a problem, seeing as he actually didn’t do it, despite it being his mission that someone stole from him, if he didn’t have a gun tucked into his waistband._

_Ah, shit._

_He prepares to leave, calculating exits and where to dump a body if someone gets in his way, before he sees a man enter the bar, a police officer following him and trying to get his attention._

_That’s not why John stops though._

_He stops because the man is beautiful. All smooth brown skin and bright blue eyes. John think his heart might stop when the man-still evading the police officer- turns to him and looks him dead in the eye, a smirk painting his face. They’re a few feet away, but John longs to reach out and touch him, just once._

_Dorian could feel the knife strapped to his thigh. He could faintly hear the sirens and the hysteria outside, but in the moment his complete attention was focused on the man at the bar, his brown hair messy and his blue shirt wrinkled. The man smiles again, and Dorian hears sirens._

_Someone stabbed the ambassador. Slit his throat in his hotel room. Gotten by all security unseen, like a ghost._ _Dorian was proud of himself. The kill was clean and no one suspected the pretty man with the big blue eyes currently looking at the man sizing him up a few feet away. The officer hounding him was merely protocol, no one actually thought he did it._

_Success. His superiors will be pleased._

_John feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. He barely hears an officer walk up to him and ask him if he is alone, suspicion deep in his voice. His eyes are on Dorian._

_And then, it’s like they know._

_The cop asks him again, and he says no. He’s with someone._

_He points to the man in front of him._

_'He's with me', John says, as Dorian smiles wider and sidles up to him. The officer hounding him nods and goes to question someone else, while the cop next to John apologizes and heads out the door._

_John sighs in relief, feeling the gun burning into his lower back as he realizes that because of this man he’s dodged a pretty big bullet. He takes in the man smiling at him under his eyelashes. He’s a few inches shorter than John himself, and he forgets his training. He forgets how to hide his emotions or stay calm in a high stress situation. He sees those eyes, and he can’t breathe again._

_"Thank you for that."_

_"No problem."_

_"I’m Dorian, by the way," Dorian says and he slips closer to the brunet, looking him directly in the eye._

_"I’m John." He croaks, Dorian laughs._

_"Well, John" he says, gently taking his hand,"I believe I owe you a drink."_

_In the end, they spend hours at an outdoor restaurant, music soft in the background as John cranks up the charm and makes Dorian laugh._

_He forgets about the mission that he never got to complete, and all he sees and feels is just Dorian._

_Eventually Dorian stands and sidles over to the center of the outdoor restaurant, where others are dancing and looks at John with a low purr of “You’re charming, but can you dance?”_

_Dorian learns that John can dance. John learns that he might have fallen in love over the course of a few hours._

_He knows he has when he takes Dorian back to his room and the blue eyed man rides him beautifully and licks into his mouth as he comes._

_He definitely knows when he wakes up next to Dorian, and sees him sleeping peacefully as he slips out of the room._

_He sure of it when he comes back with breakfast and sees Dorian up and looking around, eyes tired and smile lazy as John sets the tray down and crawls up the bed to kiss him._

_He thinks he sees Dorian’s soul that morning._

_Little did they know that they had two different purposes and organizations branded on their souls. They belonged to two different worlds._

_Two different agencies and thus two different lives._

_The rest is history._

_~~_

John doesn’t shoot him.

But that doesn’t mean _someone_ doesn’t start shooting. 

A bullet whizzes past his head as he looks at his husband, and on instinct they both turn in two opposite directions to start shooting at the masked men that have arrived while they were distracted, and opened fire.

The shock ebbs and instinct takes over. Dorian never misses a target.

His hands aren’t shaking now.

And neither are John’s.


	2. Chapter 2

_In the end, Dorian supposes, he knew it all began with the phone call._

_The phone call that planted the seed of doubt in John’s mind. That one seed that blossomed into a tree and sent his entire facade crashing down._

_John’s too._

_The beginning of the end._

_It came at 6pm._

_Dorian had gotten back from his work conference and found his husband lounging on their bed, petting the dog and reading the paper, dress shirt wrinkled and blazer thrown over Dorian’s vanity chair. He’d shrugged off his coat, crawled up the bed and kissed his husband slowly, running his hands through his hair and wrapping his arms around his shoulders._

_John moaned and ran his hands down Dorian’s sides when the first ring broke through the air._

_John had groaned as Dorian went to answer it, smiling as he picked up the phone and wandered into the study, narrowly avoiding one of the dogs chew toys that had been laying in the middle of the floor._

_He made sure to stay out of earshot of John. He saw his husband watching him through the glass doors of the office so he made the effort and smiled and rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other line said._

_The person on the other line is not a normal person. Dorian does not have a normal job._

_The woman on the phone never paused or questioned him when he laughs or responds in an overly casual way. She understands that agents have to keep their cover. She just continues speaking. She always did. Her voice is stoic and methodical, never speaking too loud or with nay emotion. She's professional. Just like she always is._

_And thus, he received his mission._

_He’d changed into his required attire for the venture and covered it with a black trench coat, buttoning it up and tying the belt around him, fully hiding his outfit. He’d grabbed his bag and exited the closet._

_Dorian walked back into the bedroom and kissed John goodbye, making up some lie about having to look over new stock percentages and trying not to feel guilty when he saw the disappointed look on his husband’s face._

_He’s Special Agent 16._

_He has to do his job. Whether he feels like it or not._

_"We have to be at the Colsons at 8 for dinner." John grouses as he turns to leave._

_"I’ll be back before then, don’t give me that look."_

_John smirked, “You better be. I can’t go through that alone.”_

_Dorian smiled and disappeared through the front door._

_~_

_He’d taken a taxi to his destination, only looking up from his phone when it pulled up outside the hotel, it’s glitzy lights reflecting off the window and catching Dorian’s eye. He’d gotten out, paid the driver, and marched into the hotel and after being searched, his bag being rifled through and ogled by a bodyguard, entered the room._

_The room had been obnoxious to say the least. Dorian’s eyes had narrowed as he took in the tacky cheetah print and clashing patterns, over-expensive but just so terrible looking. ‘The room probably costed thousands of dollars per night but they couldn’t even decorate it right’, he’d thought. That’s why John had left the interior design of their home to him-_

_A man entered the room with a bang, the bathroom door blown open and a towel low on his hips. He’d been tan, well built with brown shoulder length hair, and openly leering at Dorian._

_He understood why he got these missions. Dorian is a lot of things, but naive isn’t one of them. He knows what he looks like. His smooth brown skin and his blue eyes deliver a contrast that people find attractive. He has full, soft lips and curly hair. He’s pretty. He knows he is._

_But people don’t expect pretty people to be smart. Or deadly._

_'And that's why I do my job so well' he thought, smiling slyly and unfastening his coat, dropping it to the ground, letting the man see the tight leather hugging his body, and the garter that hovers just above the thigh highs that wrap around his legs._

_The man looked at him hungrily, and Dorian had fought the urge to roll his eyes as the man approached him slowly, dropping the towel and getting on his knees before Dorian._ _He liked pretending to be a dom. It was easier to achieve his objective when he was in control of every aspect of the situation. BDSM had never been his thing, but he’s thankful for this aspect of the cover identity._

_He’d handcuffed the man and stroked his neck, playing his part, as the man moaned and leaned forward as Dorian positioned himself behind him, running a hand through his hair._

_The man didn’t know that he wouldn’t live to see the clock strike the next hour._

_As Dorian leaned forward and moaned, “You’ve been a bad boy.” and the man moaned out a lust-addled, “Yes.”, Dorian had placed both hands on either side of his head gently before whispering, “You’ve been selling big guns to bad people.”_

_The man had frozen, and before he could do anything, Dorian had snapped his neck in one graceful motion._

_He’d croaked out a final surprised sound before his life had abruptly ended, and the guards on the other side banging and exclaiming outside the door, trying to get in as Dorian smirked and slipped back into his jacket and grabbed his bag. He had started walking toward the glass doors as he casually checked his phone, and saw a text from John._

_"The Colsons." He sighed, rolling his eyes as he yanked out one of the handles from his bag._

_He adored his tech department. They were the reason he’d stayed alive so long, that’s his theory anyway. The bag he’d taken had been given to him the day before, and was a grappling hook with a retractable cable wire. The handles or the bag were able to used to latch onto anything, allowing him to descend and ascend with ease._

_It looked like a simple handbag._

_He heard a gunshot as he slipped onto the roof, placing one handle of his bag on a hook lodged in the architecture in the building, while holding the other one as the grappling hook extended with a slight buzzing sound. He’d held tight to the other handle as he stepped off the roof._

_He’d descended down the side of the skyscraper, coat billowing around him as he fell past windows, until he landed in front a taxi on the street below. The street had been thankfully empty, except for the taxi driver that jumped when he’d spotted Dorian suddenly behind him._

_Dorian smiled softly, “Taxi?”_

_The man nodded. Dorian got in._

_Simple._

_He met up with John in front of the Colsons house, and looked as unruffled as ever, smile light as h_ _e’d kissed his husband and knocked on the door, greeting their friends as they were welcomed inside, setting his coat on the rack, having changed into a simple sweater and pants combo rather discreetly in the taxi._

_John didn’t know Dorian had been off killing John’s main informant._

_Dorian didn’t know that while he was doing this, John had been murdering Dorian’s asset._

_Two different brands on their souls._

_~_

John grabs Dorian as a haze of gunfire erupts around them, hurling them both behind a moving crate.

"If we survive this," Dorian says, "We are so going to couples counselling. You are not getting out of it this time. "

"Yes dear," John gripes, peeking out from behind the crate and shooting one of the men in the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clearly I needed to have Dorian do that fucking AWESOME Angelina Jolie scene from the movie because holy shiiiiiit that scene was so cool.


End file.
